


The Small Dark Corners

by morrisughn



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, more angst and my longest entry yet!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-11-04 02:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17889980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/morrisughn/pseuds/morrisughn
Summary: Day 5 of Reaper76 week! Post-fall, or 'empire of dirt'. Jack gets attacked at a safehouse, and a vague promise is made. All the while he insults death to his face.





	The Small Dark Corners

It wasn’t every night the figure known as Soldier: 76 was caught in this much of a travesty.

 

He’d learned to fight dirty over the years- keeping ahead of unseen danger, making sure that he was a stranger to anyone that could’ve recognised him. Maybe it was getting used to the situation that helped him push who he was to the side, to try and maintain the illusion of a mysterious renegade soldier. A part of him had grown to appreciate it- seeing sights that were hardly things he got to focus on during trips abroad being so limited to his work-life. The one thing he tried to force himself to do was to avoid missing what he once had; after he ate shit once the Swiss HQ was reduced to metal and rubble, trying and failing to establish any contact with anyone he knew, or could at least trust- it was the final nail in the coffin.

 

Tonight wasn’t a night he could appreciate sights that were neglected due to work, though.

 

Street justice had become something he’d honed in on over the years. Ana made it clear that she wasn’t all for him beating up minor thugs on the street, but Jack knew himself well enough to know that he wasn’t going to listen.

 

It was an ambush- people had been waiting for him, a small group that had caught wind of his violence. For most his pattern was hard to miss. And for those who were eager to collect the bounty on his head, there was even more of a reason to hunt down the soldier- and all the more reason for Talon to get him first, to eliminate him on their  _ own _ terms.

 

And it was a shame that ambushes never really went their way.

 

He was quick to fend an earlier pair off, leaving behind a scene one would half-expect from a low-budget horror movies; it was one of the safehouses Jack had found for himself for the sake of keeping unwanted faces away from the Necropolis, and spending the night in the city made trips for food a hell of a let easier. Talon bastards had their eyes everywhere, and if there was one thing they were good at, it was slipping under anyone's radar. While he didn't keep it too tidy, having thrown that part of himself to the wind years ago, having to fight off a couple of  _ really _ dedicated pseudo-bounty hunters wound up with his hideout looking as if someone had chucked a bomb in the middle of it and let the explosion do the work. Wouldn't have been the first time for 76.

 

Bullet holes peppered the walls, as did noticeable cracks- patches of blood and bullet shells made for a far from pretty picture. Whatever he kept around had been thrown, used as improvised weapons both against and by the old revenant- he wasn't going to get a lot of those back, was he? Wasn't like he was going to get any of the stains out, either. People were damn selfish, couldn't let an old man stick to his own.

 

Jack himself had wound up, back against the wall in the bathroom, hands shaking as he clutched a bat close to his chest. It was one he kept by his bed, in case of times like  _ this _ , and for once, Morrison was faintly thankful of how much the fear of being followed had gotten to him. Still, the bathroom was the worst of the fight, like someone had jumped into the cage of a bear. God. They may as well have. Without a visor to sharpen his view of the world, smeared red against grey became blurred, visual noise. It was too damn much to focus on.

 

Jack didn't look at the body in the corner. Or the cracked titles, handprints on the walls- Morrison could smell enough of the blood, coppery and complete torture on the nose. Not to mention the teeth he knew damn well were in the sink. He could still hear the bastard groan in pain, clutching a shattered arm as he curled in on himself, Talon’s emblem clear on his shoulder like a branding he'd signed up for. Most of the blood wasn't too visible with his assailants black clothes- the internal injuries would call for some professional help, but Jack wasn't going to act the part of a good Samaritan with people under Talon.

 

Using the chipped bat as a prop of sorts, Jack hissed as he stood, his free hand clutching at his side. Must’ve been grazed with something, Jack thought- the leather of his jacket was torn, and blood would've been flowing free if he hadn't been putting pressure on the gash in his side. He'd heal. Always had done, and after the shit they injected him with during his SEP days, ones that may as well have been two lifetimes ago, he always would heal. Shame that his heightened pain tolerance could only do so much. That, and the worst parts of being able to stand heavy blows were something else with how his head pounded like a drum.

 

“Never know when to stop,” he croaked, resting the bat over one shoulder. He needed to get out- get to  _ safety _ , and fast. Ana would have something to help, and he wasn't going to lose her if Talon wanted both of them to eat shit. Nudging the wounded man to the side with one heavily-booted foot, Jack crept out of the door, stepping over the body that shrank in fear once he heard the old man start moving again.

 

It wasn't long before he found his visor and the second, thankfully unconscious, body that lay in a heap. While he could happily ignore the latter, clicking the visor into place was a necessity before properly arming himself with a heavy pulse rifle and heading  _ right  _ out of the damned door. As his world became tinted with red, his clouded eyes had to adjust to the sudden change in how he saw the world.

 

The general route to the Necropolis was one that he knew, one that he’d travelled plenty of times in Cairo. Morrison felt heavy on his feet as he ran, passing by lit windows and bars, the thought of strangers seeing him run off into god-knows-where was quick to become a non-issue. He could follow the route off the top of his head on a good day, but with a headache that wouldn't release its grip on an already adrenaline-fuelled weapon of war, recollecting which turns lead where was too much of a damn strain, but he had to push through it. He had to, if they'd finally started to crack down on him.

 

Despite no immediate company, Jack couldn't shake the feeling that eyes were on him.

 

The wind shifted in a way that made his stomach drop a mile. Fucking hell, he couldn't do this again! Not now!

 

To hell with death coming for him, he wasn't going down like  _ this. _

 

Silently cursing to himself, Jack turned the first corner that came into his vision, swinging around and practically latching onto the stone wall. With the racing best of his heart sounding like an utter cacophony in his ears, Morrison could hear footsteps. He could recognise the sounding metal boots even if his head was splitting to the point he had to take two and lie down- if he weren't so hopped up on his mind screaming that this was life or death, he would’ve found himself desperately wondering who in the hell was behind crafting uniforms for apparently covert assassins, as if two shotguns weren't enough.

 

Gritting his teeth with eyes screwed shut, the soldier forced himself to focus. The pain in his side left him with no other choice than to sink to the ground, old knees aching in protest. Standing his ground was the best course of action- sitting and trying to ride through sharp pain was essentially the same thing in his mind right now. If he could wait it out, if the damn Reaper didn't think to check one corner, then-

 

“ _ You. _ ”

 

Then he'd wind up with the worst possible situation he could've been in, apparently.

 

He tilted his head to face the utter growl of a voice, squinting as he was met with the business-end of a shotgun and a familiar assassin, clawed and masked, all clad in black.

 

“Just can't get enough, can you?” the soldier muttered, a dim red bathing his visor in a glow that would've been eerier if he could just stand up and  _ fight. _ Morrison had enough sense left in him to avoid any sudden movements when his head was seconds away from being reduced to the consistency of chunky salsa.

 

“Don't make it sound like I want you alive,” the wraith glowered. Masked or not, the glare from the man that Jack once called his partner was harsh enough to melt steel.

 

“Yeah, enough with the monologues, Dracula,” Jack muttered, shifting his weight where he sat. “You gonna put one of those shells in me, or what? This is what you wanted the last time I saw you.”

 

Silence. Jack furrowed his brow from behind the visor.

 

“Thought you’d kill me in one shot,” he taunted. To hell with it- this would kill him. “Better make it hurt, Gabe.”

 

Without warning, the wraith lowered his gun.

 

Wait- he did what?

 

Behind the mask, Jack blinked. Part of him was bitterly disappointed that the bastard didn't pull the trigger.

 

“You on something?”

 

“Shut it, Morrison.”

 

For once, the old man went quiet. He still didn't have a damn clue as to what Reaper’s game was, but he wasn't enjoying a second of it. He kept a close eye on the wraith as he crouched before him, the gun pointed at him dissipating into smoke. For once, both men were at eye level.

 

“The only reason you're still  _ alive  _ is because I want you dead on my own terms,” Reyes began- Jack could tell he was sneering behind the skull he wore. “Killed by my  _ own _ hands.”

 

“Thought I made myself pretty clear with how I felt about the monologues,” the soldier muttered, overthrowing the urge he had to shuffle back and put some distance between them.

 

“And I told you to be quiet.” If he could've made the roll of his eyes clear, then he would've. There was a pained sigh from the masked figure before he got his threats back on track.

 

“Consider this a warning,” Reyes continued, getting back to his feet. “Seeing you dead is a mercy compared to what Talon has planned.”

 

Jack was almost taken aback by that. Trying to push himself off the sandy ground, he gave up as soon as he started the moment his injuries reminded him that they were still doing fine causing him a damn great deal of pain.

 

“A warning? That's it? You had a gun to my head!” Jack snapped, voice barely held back for the sake of not accidentally waking up the few people in this city who valued their hours of sleep. “What the hell are they going to do? Why do you even care if they pull some weird shit on me?”

 

“I feel like what you're  _ looking at  _ would be a big enough pointer for what they might do,” Reaper muttered, arms folded across his chest. “Stop having a tantrum, boy scout. You'll thank me when I kill you.”

 

The hooded assassin would’ve turned to leave and vanish into the night if it weren't for the pained grunt of the soldier behind him. As if Morrison knew when to cut the shit. Lo and behold, the old man had forced himself to his feet, absolutely fuming.

 

“I'm supposed to thank you? You didn't answer the question, Gabe.”

 

“ _ Don't  _ call me that.”

 

“Cry about it, Count Freud. Answer my question before you leave for another decade.”

 

The utter nerve. There was a growl of sorts, but he would never hear the end of it the moment he was unfortunate enough to see Jack in the flesh again.

 

“Because for some ungodly reason, I still care for you. Don't ask me why.” Reyes grumbled, taking a step back. His tone was one of reluctance- as if he could see past the old man in an ugly jacket, and somehow see who he once was. “I want you dead. For all the pain you've caused, you don't deserve an existence like  _ this _ .”

 

Jack didn't need to be told to shut up, this time. He sank back, leaning against the wall once again, trying to process what in God's name just happened. He didn't take his eyes off Gabriel.

 

“Don't think I've forgotten you, Jack.” The wraith spoke again, his form beginning to face into the black smog he was made of. “Stick to hating me. Both of us will be less disappointed that way.”

 

All the soldier could do was watch, slack-jawed in bewilderment as the wraith turned into what was practically nothing before him. Stick to hating him- why the hell Reyes had to make everything more difficult, he didn't know.

 

Jack hissed, clutching the wound at his side. It was beginning to heal some, but damn if it wasn't a nightmare to move with. He had to return to the Necropolis- Ana had to hear this.

**Author's Note:**

> The longest fic I've done for R76 week so far! Hope you guys didn't mind another serving of angsty old people. Comments are always appreciated!


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